Blood Lust
by crematosis
Summary: A rather violent and not particularry happy oneshot in fayt's point of view about his life with Albel the sexual predator.


A/N: While I'm still in the mood for writing kinky violence scenes, I decided to get this one-shot out of the way. I couldn't fit it into Death by Desire, especially since it's not 3rd person, and it's not quite the same story line…but it does sum up the mood of the story pretty well and I wanted to write another one-shot…so, here it is. XD

Disclaimer: Since I don't own Fayt, I made sure that no Fayts were harmed in the making of this story.

Blood. More blood. Always more blood. My pain for your pleasure. I live for you pleasure, constantly at your mercy. I've learned a long time ago that my purpose was to please you. If I didn't satisfy you, I would be dead pretty quickly, just like the others. I know you would never mean to kill me, but in your fits of rage, you would be impossible to control.

Anger management classes? You killed your last instructor and now no one wants to go near you.

I've given up hope of ever being rescued. They all know I'm here, but they won't do anything about it. Your crimes are legendary; your reputation makes you the most feared monster in history. How much I'm being tortured makes no difference as long as they're not the ones suffering. I'm another sacrifice for the common good. As long as you have me and I'm still alive, you won't go after another victim.

I won't deny that I've changed since I've met you. You watch over me constantly, putting my whole life on a schedule. Your schedule. It's always all about you. As long as you're happy with me, I'm not supposed to care what you do to my body.

I've given up caring a long time ago.

I know the routine by heart. You've destroyed all the clocks in the house, but I instinctively know what time it is. It's ingrained into my soul.

I've learned to walk with my feet tied, taking tiny steps into the kitchen to get you your coffee. Alcohol at night, coffee in the morning. That's always the way it is. If I'm lucky, you won't notice me as I slide out of bed to go to the kitchen. If you do, you're most likely to yell and cuss me for disturbing your sleep. You need all the sleep you can get these days.

Most of the time my wrists are tied together in front of me and it's difficult for me to pour your coffee. But I manage somehow and bring it back to you. You never act grateful for it, but after you drink, you can concentrate again.

That's never a good thing for me.

When you start thinking again, you start thinking of how much you want my body. Even before I've had breakfast, we have to have sex. Once is never enough, twice is never enough either. I no longer truly react anymore. I let my body respond in ways that I know you like, but I don't truly feel what's happening to me. It doesn't hurt, but it doesn't feel good either. I'm simply used to it.

Once I'm no longer able to keep up and I'm tired and panting, you tie me to the headboard and force-feed me with whatever you decide to make for breakfast. I no longer want to survive so you have to fight me to get me to eat anything. But you are not about to let your precious sex toy starve.

Sleep, sex. Breakfast, sex. Lunch, sex. Dinner, sex. And then we start all over again the next day. I no longer bother getting dressed. I walk through your house naked, bruised, bleeding, dirty. It's what I have become. Days have lost their meaning. I'm almost surprised when you tell me it's a holiday. What do holidays matter anymore? For my birthday, my present is more sex. For Christmas, you pin me down in the layer of pine needles under the tree and have your fill of my body as the needles cut into my skin.

You hardly surprise me anymore. I know your habits, I know the things you like, the things you don't like. I mold myself into the perfect slave, the type who never gets killed.

I'm completely restrained for most of the day, tied to the headboard of the bed so you can fuck me again and again and I can't run away. It's not like I can really run away anymore anyway. I'm too tired, too sore, too exhausted. Escaping would free me from this life, but I can't be bothered to try. I've fallen into a routine and I wouldn't know what to do if I didn't have to do as I'm told.

I endure beatings, torture, bondage, rape. Countless scars run up my arms and down my back. But this abuse is another part of daily life. I've learned to sit quietly, to accept it as you rip open old wounds. I let the blood pour down and wait for you to be done so you can clean it out and prevent infection. After all, if I died, I would be of no use to you.

I've lasted the longest of all your slaves. More than six years. Eventually, as I grow older, you might have to replace me. But for now, my position is secure and the public is safe.

How did I become the sex slave of such a cruel, vicious monster? Once upon a time, you were my best friend. I trusted you, adored you. I even almost married you. That time is past, but I still stay, perhaps hoping you are still the Albel Nox I once knew. But all that changed when your father died.

You became cruel, trying to prove to yourself that you had power over others. Countless people died to slake your powerful lust. You lured me into your trap quite easily. I was still trusting and naïve. But now I am a prisoner. There have been no more killings, no more destruction. But the people still think of you almost as an evil god. We live alone, undisturbed. No one hears my screams.

I had almost given up all hope when you took me by surprise. You kissed me. You had never done that before. You preferred sex to just about anything else. But this time, it was such a passionate kiss. I found my heart melting, believing that somewhere deep down you cared. I allowed myself to feel again.

You've never kissed me again. But that hasn't stopped me from thinking about it. Every time we have sex, I become your willing partner. I pretend that it's love, not lust. You let me curl up next to you, snuggle against you. You allowed it because slaves should adore their master as I adored you.

The routine continued, but with slightly less torture. You still whipped me, but often afterwards, you would hold me. I belonged to you more and more each day. You still needed to hurt me to satisfy your wicked ways, but when comfort was so much more effective, you used it often; usually a simple touch or caress was all it took. It was never enough to truly be counted as love or affection, but it was enough to make me fall in love.

Sex was rough and quick, filled with my passion and your lust. I loved sex, loved the way it felt. I was losing control, but who better to lose it to than the one you love?

I would have done anything for you. Even kill.

I'm no longer tied up at all. My overwhelming desire for sex keeps me with you. Sometimes I think I want it more than you do. It doesn't matter.

I wait and watch and let you dominate me. Maybe one day you'll love me as I love you. But even if you don't, you're still my best friend, the sadist.


End file.
